Learning to Share

I really didn't feel like sharing my baby with anyone. I'm not even sure how long I greedily held her. Suddenly my mother-in-law asked my husband how he was doing. Until this point he had remained silent. He answered, and the baby opened her eyes wide, and looked him straight in the eye. People say that is impossible, but having witnessed it I disagree. It was like she had been searching for him.
I knew it was time to share her with the other person who helped create her. The man who made sure I was well cared for. The man who suffered sympathy morning sickness with me. The man who had gained a few pounds of baby weight, just so that I would feel better. The man who never complained when I wanted my monthly corn dog, and the only place to get them was a thirty minute drive from our house. The man who would take me to a drive-in two towns over at midnight so that I could get a banana split. The man who had suffered every inconvenience right along with me. He had done his time. He deserved a big reward for his efforts. I relinquished Bebe to a nurse who weighed, measured, and cleaned her up. They wrapped her in a blanket, and put her hat on her head. Bebe swaddeled, with her huge eyes and little hat reminded me of a catapiller which earned her the nickname of Bug. They handed Bebe to the outstretched arms of her loving father. It was like watching a long awaited reunion. Soon everyone came into the room to meet Miss Bebe. My doctor said that she was surprised by how big Bebe was. She said that she never expected me to have a baby weighing over six pounds, and Bebe had shattered her expectations at a whopping seven pounds, and ten ounces. This excitement over her large size was very short lived. I mention it because my little one was not always off the charts small. There was a time when her size was perfectly average.
Then the doctor call the lactation nurse into the room, and everyone started going their separate ways. My Aunt, and uncle headed back home, and my mother, brother, and sister-in-law went to our house to get cleaned up, and find something to eat. My mother-in-law, and father-in-law stepped out of the room to call my husband's siblings.
I thought I was prepared to breast feed. I thought it would be easy. I thought the worst pain was over. I was wrong again. We had a very difficult time getting Bebe to latch on. Once latched on I didn't know how to get her off. There was no problem, because the lactation nurse knew exactly how to help me. I still hadn't registered what was going on. So the room was filled with nervous laughter.
The first feeding took place at about 4:30 P.M. So all you mamas know my feeding schedule. Bebe was supposed to eat every two hours.
Now it was time for my feeding. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since any of us had eaten. My mother-in-law held Bebe while I devoured an enormous plate of spaghetti accompanied by a salad, garlic bread, and apple juice. I didn't even know I was hungry! Yes, it was hospital food, but at that point I felt like I was dining at a gourmet restaurant except for the unfortunate hospital decor.
After eating my husbands parents dragged him away for dinner. On their way out they turned the lights down. Suddenly I realized that I could feel a fuzzy tingling in my feet. It was so quiet. No doctors, no nurses, no one but me and sweet little Bebe. Soon she drifted off to sleep. I reluctantly put her in the bassinet, and wheeled it as close to me as I could. I held her little balled up hand in mine, and allowed sleep to take me.